


[LI-] GH [T-] S [--]

by whenromeisinruin (orphan_account)



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Drugs mention, Rough Sex, Sex, Suicide mention, but it's here and it's ready to go, death mention, this took longer than it needed to, yes it does need to be titled like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6201505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/whenromeisinruin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Gerard had been digging in the piles of stuff in the back lounge for. Whatever. Probably his hoodie, he loved to sleep in it. He was always cold. He hogged the blankets whenever he could. Frank always joked how he hated it, but he always meant he loved it. When did telling someone you hated them become code for saying you loved them?“</p><p>Another "true story of frerard" fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[LI-] GH [T-] S [--]

**Author's Note:**

> This is highly fictionalized and is not my actual belief of if/how frerard happened. Much artistic license was taken.

**_July 7, 2004 - Ventura, California_ **

Frank let the bathroom door slam behind him; the noise from the club was immediately muffled, thank God. He went to the sink and splashed water on his face. He looked physically ill in the mirror; maybe it was the shitty lighting, maybe it was the booze, maybe he was sick for real. He sure as fuck was sick of Mikey grinding on him like a girl at senior prom. He didn’t want to be here anymore, didn’t want to be on this tour, he wanted to be back home. In his own  bed, where he could actually sleep. Not living in a cramped bus with a bunch of assholes. He was tired and pissed off and everything sucked because whatever. He splashed more water on his face and caught sight of the scorpion on his neck. No, he didn’t want to be back home, he shouldn’t think stupid shit like that. The faucet dripped, the muffled bass thudded outside. He didn’t want to be back home, but he sure as fuck didn’t want to be in this shitty club anymore. 

There were two stalls, nobody would mind if he hid in one, right? He took the one closer to the urinals and sat on the toilet, pulling his knees up and sitting criss-crossed. He flipped out his phone and started flitting through his voicemails. Maybe he should at least call home– no, it was too late at night for that. Tomorrow, though. When he got up tomorrow he should most definitely call home. 

The bathroom door opened and the music flooded in again before being dammed. From the sound of four feet and the gross sounds of a sloppy make-out session, Frank knew two people had entered and feared what would happen next. The two sets of feet appeared outside Frank’s stall, walking to the next one. The stall door shut and the lock clicked. Great, fucking fantastic. Now Frank was stuck in here and he had to listen to these two fuck. 

It took Frank a moment to realize that both pairs of shoes were men’s, and after that it took less than a second to recognize Gerard’s pair: shitty converse, with a little bat sharpied on the white part of one. And fake blood because everything they owned was stained with fake blood. Gerard was about to get fucked in a shitty club bathroom and Frank was being forced to listen to it. He was reminded of a quote someone smarter than himself had probably once said, something about how Hell is a place you carry inside of yourself instead of being a place you go; Frank most definitely thought his own personal Hell was right fucking here. 

“Oh, fuck me!” For Christ’s fucking sake please don't make this worse Gerard.

“You want it bad, slut?” Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. That was Bert’s voice. Gerard was about to get fucked by Bert in a shitty club bathroom and Frank was being forced to listen to it. Gerard was moaning and sighing like a bad porn actor, Frank guessed there was a hand down the front of his pants. And then the pants were on the floor; the belt buckle made a loud  _ plink _ noise on the tile. It rang in Frank’s ears longer than it should have. He became very aware of the pounding of his own pulse in his ears as well. He also noticed that it was just the pants on the floor, no underwear. Rock ‘n’ roll, Gerard. 

There was a thud, someone had hit the stall divider. In his mind, Frank could see it; Gerard up against the wall, his cheeks flushed and his eyes shut in that lazy way, mouth slack. And Bert, dark and ominous, his fingers doing whatever they pleased. Judging from Gerard’s quick gasp, Frank guessed Bert was fingering him. The mental image was crystal clear. Frank’s fists were balled, his knuckles white. Another small moan from Gerard, probably a second finger. Frank’s face felt hot, his clothing felt intrusive on his skin. He loosened his belt, at least. Quietly, so the buckle didn't make a noise. It relieved some of the pressure, not enough. In addition to the pressure in his pants, Frank’s mind was ready to burst. Did he have the hots for Gerard? Had he always had the hots for Gerard? He thought back about it. Gerard’s weird reedy laugh. His greasy hair. The weird way his fingers always splayed out. The fact Frank could immediately recall these things gave him an answer. Maybe he’d just never realized.

Gerard let out a breathy moan. “Fuck me, fuck me now.” Oh Christ. There was a crinkling noise, and then a small metallic wrapper on the floor. The glimmer of it sent something in Frank over his limit; shiny object, like a fucking raccoon or something. What he was about to do was just as dirty, if not dirtier. Frank unbuttoned his jeans, carefully hoisted himself up and slid them off his hips. He couldn't put his feet down for fear of being discovered, but he managed to at least free himself. 

Bert had presumably gotten the condom on. Frank heard no sound of a bottle, which must mean they were doing this dry. Or, god forbid, with some horrible substitute. Spit. Bathroom sink foam-y soap. Maybe Gerard had a paint tube in his pocket, oh  _ god _ . Bert’s low, rough command of “turn around” distracted Frank from that thought. It was hot. It was fucking hot. Fuck. You can't just think these things about Bert. Not even when he's doing this, pushing all the right buttons to make Gerard make those noises. Fuck. 

There was another thud, presumably Gerard turning around and placing his hand on the wall. From the shadows cast, Frank guessed Gerard was touching himself. That image was the one Frank held in his mind as he began working on his own needs, his hand moving slow at first. A second thud, louder and more aggressive. Frank stole a glance at the feet in the next stall, it looked like Bert had just shoved Gerard into the wall and was standing behind him.  “No touching.” Gerard couldn't help but moan at that. There was a second of silence, and then Gerard gasped sharply again. Then the thuds became repeated, steady. Gerard was whimpering with them. Frank moved his hand in time, pretending it was him in that stall, him shoving Gerard up against a wall, him making Gerard make those noises. Gerard, his hair was probably sticking to the sweat on his face, his eyes were probably shut tight. And those cheeks, those rouged cheeks that would make a porcelain doll jealous. 

There was an interruption in the thuds, a skipped beat. “I said no touching.” Teasing, rough, a little too rough to count as compassionate. Gerard didn’t have a reply for that, aside from a breathy whine. The thudding resumed, maybe a little slower and more deliberate now, but god, that whine, that whine; it sent Frank into a tailspin. The thuds against the wall were fuller-sounding. Frank could see it in his mind, Gerard pressed hard against the wall, his head turned -- to the right, his hair falling in his face and sticking to the sweat for a moment before being blown up again with his exhalation, his cock rubbing against the divider. And Bert, maybe he was biting Gerard’s neck, the vampire they'd been playing songs about. The teeth marks Bert might have left on Gerard’s shoulder were imprinted on Frank's eyelids, he screwed his eyes further shut; little dents pearling in the pale skin, so tender and warm, pinked slightly from the pressure and Gerard’s own pleasure. 

“Bert, please.” Oh fuck. Beg for it Gerard, beg for it. 

“No touching.” Bert’s voice was low, he was close. His thrusts were more deliberate; Frank had kept his hand in time with them. Gerard was moaning again, breathy. Frank had a moment of concern for how much this probably hurt Gerard; Bert as a human being was probably the biggest dick ever in Frank's opinion, but his cock probably wasn't too small, and to do this dry wasn't the best feeling. Gerard let out another moan and Frank’s mind quickly drifted other places, like the soft skin of Gerard’s sides and the taste of salt and sweat on his neck. Frank wanted to dig his fingers into that flesh, wanted his hot breath in Gerard’s ear, wanted Gerard to be breathy and hot and begging for Frank. Gerard was pressed against the divider, Frank could reach his hand out and touch the wall. It wasn't even an inch of plastic between them. Bert was grunting now with the movements, which themselves were becoming unraveled and unsteady. Frank had his eyes shut tight, one white-knuckled hand gripping the toilet seat and the other furiously working over his dick. 

“Please.” That's what did it. Frank tipped over the edge, he had to take his supporting hand and bite into the meat of his thumb to avoid moaning out loud. In his mind, it wasn't Gerard in some shitty bathroom, it was Gerard splayed out on some magnificent bed waiting for Frank. It was the feeling of sheets on his thighs, the way Gerard’s fingers would sink into the pillows when he grabbed them tight and the way Frank’s would mirror them in the soft marble flesh of Gerard’s ass. It wasn't the salt of sex, it was something sweeter. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was getting what you wanted. 

Frank managed to remain silent through some miracle. He feared that if he tried to use the toilet paper roll to clean himself up it would make noise and reveal his presence, so he opted for waiting it out. Trying not to breathe, he took a peek at the feet in the stall next door. Bert had apparently finished as well. 

“I said no touching.” Oh fuck. Gerard was still waiting, he let out a small whine. Frank saw Bert’s feet take a half step back, then they shifted as if Bert was moving something heavy. Gerard’s feet moved, Bert had grabbed him and turned him around. The following thud meant Bert had pushed Gerard back up against the wall. In Frank’s mind, he’d pinned Gerard’s hands above his head, was sucking at Gerard’s neck right under his ear, was jerking Gerard off. Aggressive, quick hand movements. Not being gentle. Frank wondered if maybe Gerard liked it like that, or if Bert was just an asshole. Maybe a bit of both, judging from the way Gerard’s breathy moans were slowly escalating. Frank’s nerves were all on fire, the sound was hanging in his ears like static. There was a pause, a sharp intake of breath – maybe Frank’s, maybe Gerard’s – and a long shuddering gasp. 

There was no after, there was no post-coital “I love you.” Frank didn't actually hear Bert say anything. He did wash his hands, which was probably one of the best things Bert McCracken ever did for the world. Gerard was still leaning against the wall, panting slightly. His pants were still around his ankles, that bat belt buckle glinting up at Frank like it knew his secret. Frank briefly pondered if Gerard maybe hadn't worn underwear because he didn't have any clean pairs left; this thought was yanked away in the same way Gerard yanked his jeans up. After a brief drunken fumbling with the buckle, Gerard was mostly decent again. He exited the stall, Frank watched the feet walk to the sink. Gerard was splashing water on his face like Frank had done not twenty minutes prior. Frank almost considered revealing his presence, which was fucking stupid. The moment passed, Gerard left the bathroom. 

It finally occurred to Frank the magnitude of what had just happened. This meant that Bert was gay, Gerard was gay, they were a thing for real and not just for tabloids, that Frank could admit to himself that he was hot for Gerard, and that one-hundred percent without a doubt Frank was going to Hell. Those last two could be interchangeable. Frank waited a few moments, then exited the bathroom as well. The club music rushed at him when the door opened, as did a dark figure: Bert, pushing him back into the bathroom and into the tile wall.

“Well, if it isn't Frankie.” His breath smelled like shit and Frank was immensely grateful he had washed his hands; those hands were now holding Frank against the wall. Frank loosely wondered if this is how he pushed Gerard too. “A little birdie told me you were in there for that.”

“Uh.” Frank didn't know what to say. Yes, he had heard Bert aggressively fuck Gerard. Yes, he had absolutely jerked off to it. Yes, he was going to confessional tomorrow and every Sunday for the rest of his life and telling this story. 

“Look. What happened in there? Didn't happen.” Oh god, the vestigial Catholic in Frank wished it hadn't. “And if word gets out it happened, I'll make sure it gets back to you.”

“Okay. Okay.” Frank didn't think Bert could actually do anything, but he sure as hell wasn't going to test that. Bert’s hands loosened and he pulled away. 

“Good.” He backed away and left Frank leaning against the tile. The door shut again, the club music bouncing once more around the bathroom before being silenced.

* * *

 

**_January 8, 2005 - Los Angeles, California_ **

So Gerard was in a casket.

Maybe that should be restated.

Gerard was laying in the prop casket for the video. It’s important to keep these things clear. Gerard was laying in the prop casket in the back room of the church, his eyes shut. The crews had cleared out for a lunch break, people milling about outside in the gaps between the rain; no one likes spending any more time than is necessary in a church. 

Frank didn't mean to find Gerard. He'd just opened the door to see what was inside was all. The crews had obtained a second casket for the shoot in case something happened to the first one; probably a good move. And Gerard happened to be laying in it. Okay. Sure. That's normal. 

“Oh, sorry.” It was the same tone he would've used if he'd walked in on someone jerking off. He moved to shut the door again. 

“Frank?” Gerard sounded very far away. 

“Yeah?”

“Will you come here?” 

Frank approached the casket slowly, worried he'd find something dead, probably. Or worse, something bad about Gerard. He'd only been clean a few months, after all. But no, Gerard was fine. Aside from being in a casket at least. His smile was serene when he finally could see Frank’s face.

“Hey.”

“Hey?”

“Will you lay down with me?”

“What?”

“Lay down with me in here. We’ll both fit.”

“Uh. Okay.” Sometimes you just have to go with what Gerard says. Frank lifted one leg over the side of the box, then the other. It was a tight fit, to say the least. Gerard felt warm next to him, soft flesh and dark fabric. There was a small window in the room, the drops of rain still sticking to it. Outside, Frank could see the overcast sky still menacing the day. He watched it for a moment, the stillness of grey. “Gerard?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are we laying in here?”

“I didn't want to be alone.”

“Okay.” Frank was trying not to be an ass but Gerard was such a fucking artist sometimes it was frustrating. “But why were you in here?”

“I wanted to see what it was like.” He took a moment. “It looks just like my grandmother's.” 

Oh. 

_ Oh _ .

Frank reached and found Gerard’s hand in a gesture of comforting. Gerard squeezed back. 

“And then I was in here and I was thinking about last year.”

“Last year?”

“Yeah. You remember Japan?” Of course Frank remembered Japan. They all remembered Japan. Gerard retching over a trash can like he was trying to turn himself inside out. Frank still saw Gerard's eyes from that moment in his nightmares. Wild, terrified. “I thought I was going to die there. I just. I thought I would die.” Frank had guessed this. After Kansas City, he knew Gerard was at risk. It wasn’t a confirmation he wanted, but maybe he needed it. 

“And then I was thinking about Bert.”

“Bert? Why?”

“He hasn't spoken to me since before Japan.”

“He hasn't?” You didn't have to have had listened to them fuck in a bathroom stall to know that Bert and Gerard were close. 

“Yeah.” Gerard took a few breath. “We, uh, we were close. And now we’re not. I guess.” 

“I'm sorry about that.” Sympathy was never Frank’s game. 

“Yeah. I just wonder about it.”

Without really thinking, Frank moved a little closer and kissed Gerard. It was sudden. It was quick, chaste almost. It wasn't like the stage business, it wasn't designed to be aggressive and show-offy. It wasn't for anyone but them. Gerard seemed almost surprised by it.

“Frank?”

“I'm sorry, I-”

“No, that was. That was nice. I, uh. Thank you.” 

“You're. Welcome?”

Gerard wriggled slightly in the casket to get more comfortable. “Yeah. I don't know.”

“What don't you know?”

“I just. Feel weird, y’know? Like.  _ Mlegh.  _ I don't have a word for it. But that was nice.”

“Okay.” Frank was still holding Gerard’s hand, running his thumb in circles on the back of it. It was a good moment, quiet and sincere.

“Will you kiss me again?”

“Of course.” Frank moved on top of Gerard to make it easier. Gerard still felt so delicate; “still” implying a sense of before, a sense of something that had changed. Frank didn’t know why his brain said “still”. This time, Frank was slower and more deliberate with it. Gerard’s lips were soft, his hands were warm as they wrapped around Frank’s waist. Maybe it was good he was so warm; the room was cold, outside was rainy. April showers bring May flowers or some bullshit. Except it was January. Whatever, fuck off. 

Frank wasn't really sure how the scene changed. His kisses were heavier, more intense. Gerard’s hands were still on his hips, pulling him down slightly, rubbing their pelvises together. Not aggressive, just active. “Frank, will you, ah, your hand-” he couldn't finish the sentence, trailed off because Frank was kissing his lips again. Frank got the idea and moved his hand down to Gerard’s belt, started undoing it. The zipper of Gerard’s pants made a satisfying  _ zzzzzt _ noise as Frank undid it; he could feel Gerard tremble ever so slightly at the sound. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just, uh.”

“Do you want me to stop? I can stop.” Frank was absolutely not going to fuck this up.

“No, just, uh. I don't know.”

Frank pulled his hand away. “We don't have to do this if you're not sure.” 

“No, no, I wanna, I just. The last guy I did this with, it was, it was just-”

“What did Bert do to you?” 

“He didn't do anything bad, he just–” Gerard cut himself off. “You. You know about that?” Frank assumed that “that” meant that Gerard and Bert were together for real.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“How did you find out?”

“I. Uh. I was there one time.”

“You were. There?” Gerard’s cheeks turned pink, the matte blush of shame.

“You two did it in a club bathroom one time. I was in there.”  _ And I totally fucking jerked off to it  _ was an unspoken addendum. 

“Oh my god.” Gerard’s face was moving past matte pink and into the properly rouged area of the spectrum. Frank could see the mental alarm bells ringing behind Gerard’s eyes.

“I didn't tell anyone, don’t worry about that.” 

“I'm not but just. That's. Embarrassing.”

“Why?”

“You. You  _ heard us _ !” Gerard was whispering now. Maybe if he whispered that would undo the incident. That's not how time works, sadly; Frank had tried to whisper it away many times, through hushed Hail Mary’s in his bunk and soundless profanities in the company of himself and the privacy of the bathroom. Maybe those two should be reversed; you hush the prayers that you say to repent for jacking off to the idea of your vocalist. 

“How is that embarrassing? It was hot.” Oh shit. Oh shit Frank you fucking dumbass you put the quotation marks in the wrong spot. The second sentence was supposed to be italicized because  _ you weren't supposed to say it out loud _ . Fuck. The cat’s out of the bag now.

“ _ What?”  _ Gerard was still whisper-hissing for some reason. “It was  _ hot?”  _

“Uh. Yeah. It was.” No point trying to cover it now, dumbass. Frank’s clothes suddenly felt restrictive, not in the erotic way but in the feverish way, maybe it was shame. “I, uh. I was hiding in there. And you two came in and. Yeah.” 

“And you. Just. Listened?”

“Uh.”

“Frank, what does that mean?”

“I, um. I, y’know.”

“No, I don't know.” You totally know, asshole.

“I. I jerked off to it.” It was ironically the most sinful confessional; not five minutes ago he'd been an inch away from giving Gerard a handjob. Not to mention he still had his thighs between Gerard’s. In a casket. In a church. Jesus Christ. 

“You jerked off to it.” Frank couldn't quite pin down what Gerard’s tone was. That hadn't been a question.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“As it happened?”

“Yeah. And. A few times after.” Frank shifted slightly in his shame and he absolutely should not have; he could feel Gerard’s cock against his thigh. 

“After?” Frank finally pinned down Gerard’s tone. Something carnal, the way summer heat slows everything down to a lustful pace. Sweat on sultry skin. The way clothes peel off. Summer erotica seemed highly out of place in this cold church; maybe that's what made Frank’s skin tingle electric. 

“Yeah. After. More than a few times.” Frank leaned in again, placed his mouth near Gerard’s ear. He made sure his breath summered on Gerard’s neck. Gerard moaned quietly in response. “Shhhh.” Frank kissed Gerard’s lips, “we wouldn't want someone to hear us.” Gerard kissed back, needy.

“Will you –” another kiss “tell me about it?” Gerard’s voice wasn’t the same breathy voice he'd used in the bathroom. It was low and sweet, blueberry stains on estival feet. 

“Mhmmm.” Frank moved his hand back to Gerard’s cock, slipping past the unzippered waistband. “I like to think about all the ways I can make you shudder–” Frank licked a stripe up the side of Gerard’s neck to demonstrate, “like that.” Frank slid his hand down Gerard’s shaft, slowly. Gerard shuddered again. “And like that.” He paused a moment to suck at Gerard’s neck. “And sometimes I think about how bad I wanna pull your hair, make you mine.” Frank moved his body up slightly; he could whisper directly in Gerard’s ear now, but his wrist was better situated for the motions he'd been making. “And all the ways I can make you moan.”

Frank moved his hand in a series of motions too sinful to be described in a church; at the same time, he gently bit Gerard’s earlobe. Gerard tried to stifle his own moan by raising a hand to cover his mouth. He ended up biting into the back of his wrist. “You like that?” Gerard moved his hand off of his mouth, used it to cover his eyes. Frank was glad for his affirmative moan; he'd never touched another man like this, only ever dreamed of it. He could write an article for Cosmopolitan, handjob tips for when you're in a coffin. Frank moved a little faster, picking up on the way Gerard’s breathing grew a little faster and his eyes were shut tighter. He was still trying to narrate in the breaths between sucking at Gerard’s neck. To call it a confessional might be too ironic at this point; generally you confess your sins after you commit them, not confess future sins while also sinning. Whatever. Frank was bad at the Catholic thing anyway. 

“And how I wanna feel your skin everywhere–”

“And hear how loud I can make you be–”

“Wanna see how bad you claw my back–”

“Wanna fuck you right into the mattress–”

“Wanna tie you up, wanna hear you whine–”

That's what got Gerard. He bit into his bottom lip and let out a little whimper. His hips hitched up a bit, involuntary. Frank marveled at how quickly Gerard had become undone; how he himself, Frank, managed to steal that honeyed spasm from Gerard, Gerard the artist, Gerard the art. 

A moment passed, both of them breathing rather heavily. Gerard broke the autumnal silence; autumnal in the sense that the summer warmth had gone, but the room refused to return to winter.  “Lucky I wore underwear today.”

“What?”

“My costume. Don't think the directors would like it if I'd fucking cummed all over my pants.” Frank couldn't see Gerard’s face, but he could hear the crooked smile break out; it made Frank laugh, to have gone from one extreme to the other like that. Maybe it was an artist thing.  **__**

* * *

 

**_June 20, 2005 - Somewhere between Wisconsin and Missouri_ **

So it was June. That was cool, Frank supposed. The weather was absolutely not cool, the air was sticky and stagnant somewhere in the asscrack of the midwest: Frank used that phrase to describe pretty much all of the midwest; and indeed, all of the midwest was an asscrack. So that was less cool, Frank supposed. Frank actually supposed a lot of things; he supposed the pope was a Catholic, he supposed bears shit in the woods, he supposed you were expected to talk to your best friend about that time six months ago you jerked him off in a coffin. 

So they hadn’t talked about it. Frank supposed that was maybe bad. They hadn’t been awkward about it, but the waters were certainly not stilled. Gerard had tried to avoid being alone in rooms with Frank, to avoid being in the same area of the bus alone. That was going to prove rather problematic; they were on Warped again, and Warped meant they were stuck in close quarters and constantly moving for the whole summer. Everyone was stuck in close quarters, really. It was largely inconvenient for secret affairs. Or any affairs. Or even just decent living. 

Taste of Chaos had been alright, Frank guessed. Gerard had avoided him, which hurt a bit. More than a bit. But on the flip side, Gerard and Bert barely spoke, which was good. Maybe. Frank decided it was good. Frank had missed the back half of the tour though, so who knew what went on. Whatever time Frank lacked having spent with Gerard, he curiously made up by spending it with Mikey. Or rather, Mikey spent time with him. It felt weird to say that. Mikey slept like three feet away, of course they spent time together. But Frank, looking back on it now, realized that Mikey had ended up being around him for like, eighty percent of the time he was on the tour. Maybe eighty-five. Which was weird. Maybe it was only weird compared to Gerard’s sad little forty percent. Forty-five. Forty was too low. This was outside of the mandatory time spent together. Mikey had spent eighty-five percent of his free time with Frank. 

Frank couldn’t keep doing the math, it was too hot. Even though the sun had set, the humidity clung to the air and everything was just genuinely fucking gross. It was nights like this when Frank debated quitting smoking. To stand outside the bus was fucking stupid, and being at some Midwestern Asscrack gas station didn’t make the experience any more pleasant. A couple of the buses had stopped, the people inside wanting to piss and get chips and beer or whatever. That was always slightly annoying about Warped tour, people liked to stop. Well, that stands true for any tour, or any road trip ever. On their usual tours, there weren’t as many people and thus, less people wanting to piss and get chips or beer or whatever. Frank always vaguely wondered what the cashiers in these gas stations thought when a bunch of dudes in tight shirts and tighter jeans strolled in at five ‘til midnight. 

People were migrating back toward the buses now, clumps of two or three of them. A loud burst of laughter pulled Frank from his thoughts, told him to get moving. He dropped his cigarette and ground it into the asphalt with his shoe. Why did he do that? It probably damaged his soles. It didn’t even look that cool. Just do it the normal human way, asshole. Frank could see the clumps of people in more detail now, fanning across the parking lot. Ray and Gerard were together, the former talking about music probably, what with the way his hands were flying everywhere. Bob was dragging behind them. Closer to the gas station, Frank could pick out who he guessed was Mikey. And with Mikey, he saw who he guessed were two guys from Fall Out Boy. It was weird Mikey hung out with them. Well, maybe it made sense for he and Pete to hang out; they were friends, Frank supposed. But Frank also had an inkling that Patrick didn’t really like Mikey all that much. Or really anyone in My Chem. Which was weird. They’d asked him to drum for them sometime and he’d actually agreed. Maybe Patrick just didn’t like the juxtaposition of Pete and Mikey. Maybe Mikey still had a rep for. Whatever people used to call him and Gerard.  _ The Chemical Brothers,   _ yeah, that was it. 

Frank couldn’t really blame Patrick for that. If anything, Frank could almost get it. He remembered the plane trip back from Japan, and how Gerard just looked so fucking pale and shaken and just. Bad. Genuinely bad. Gerard had later confessed that he didn’t think he would survive the flight. Patrick didn’t even have that visual, but it was normal not to want your friend to end up like that. To end up like that? Frank got back into the bus, sat in the front lounge area. To end up like that made it sound worse. Worse than what, Frank didn’t want to think about. Maybe Patrick was still worried about Pete. The guy had tried to kill himself a few months prior, Frank remembered. Pills, is what he’d heard. You’d be a shitty friend to not still be worried. 

The familiar clomp-clomp of shoes onto the bus announced returns. Ray came in first, still talking about music; the man was a fucking genius, you only needed to talk to him for like five seconds to see it. Gerard followed, clutching a bag of chips. Fuck, maybe Frank should’ve snagged some food. Whatever. Bob followed the first two, greeting Frank with the usual “what’s up, little man?” Bob was a good dude to tour with. He’d seen some shit. He knew shit happened. He took no shit. And, perhaps most importantly, Bob knew the value of sleep; he immediately returned to his bunk and pulled the curtain shut. Gerard and Ray had vanished into the little studio they’d put in the back of the bus. Frank was on the verge of being alone in the lounge again, saved by Mikey coming up the stairs. Mikey always stepped so quietly up those bus stairs, the kid was like a fucking ghost sometimes. He smiled at Frank as he came in, one of his big goofy grins. He breathed out a little “hey man” before proceeding toward the bunk area. Mikey hung in the doorway for a brief second, perhaps debating if he should hang out with Frank. He apparently decided against it, because he vanished into the confines of his own bunk. And then Frank was alone. Maybe that was good, he didn’t want to have to redo the math for Mikey’s percentage. Frank supposed if he was eighty-five percent of Mikey’s time, Pete was the other fifteen. Maybe his math was wrong anyway. Fuck it.

The bus had started rolling again. Outside the window, Frank couldn’t see jack shit. Maybe if he wanted to be artsy, he’d talk about phantom treelines flitting past, running from something larger than themselves. But Frank wasn’t going to be artsy about it, they were fucking trees. A crinkling noise behind him pulled Frank from his totally non-artsy thoughts. Gerard had returned and was eating his chips. Their eyes met. Gerard’s face resembled that of a child who had been caught stealing from the cookie jar. Frank understood in that moment that Gerard really didn’t want to talk about what he knew Frank was gonna talk about, which is why he didn’t want to be alone with Frank. Maybe it was an artist thing, to go from one extreme to the other like that.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Frank didn’t give a fuck if Gerard didn’t want to be alone with him. He wanted to be alone with Gerard. “What’s up?”

“Oh, y’know. Chips. Ray was showing me guitar stuff.” One of the most important rules on tour was not to eat in your bunk. Ever. Just don’t, man.

“Cool.” Frank didn’t know how to breach the subject. Gerard half-sat on the little counter. “So, uh.”

“Hm?” Munch munch. If Gerard kept eating chips maybe he wouldn’t have to actually talk.

Frank wanted to blurt out something like “sorry I grabbed your dick” but that wasn’t really socially acceptable. He tried to make a coverup. And botched it. “Uh, how is tour going for you?”

“It’s going okay, I guess? Uh. What about you?” Gerard gave no indication of whether he read the subtext.

“Oh, yeah, it’s good. Better than last year, I think. More kids here for us.”

“Yeah. It’s exciting, y’know? They really love the record.” Gerard plucked a chip from the bag and crunched down on it. Frank tried not to watch so he seemed less creepy. He failed, and hated himself for taking note of the way Gerard’s jaw moved. “I think that day at the Astoria is gonna be in my brain forever.”

“That whole month was wild.”

“Yeah, it was. It’s crazy how big this has all gotten.” Gerard paused a moment, thinking. “Never thought it’d get this far.”

Frank’s mind was certainly not on the Astoria, or on the tour, or on the rise to fame. His brain-to-mouth filter broke and he found himself saying, “Hey, I’ve wanted to ask you something for a while.” Holy shit Frank, what are you doing. 

“What?” Gerard didn’t openly show his fear, but Frank knew.

“Uh. January?” No point trying to cover it up now, dumbass.

“Oh. Uh.”

“I just. Uh. Was that. What was that.” Eloquence, the most aesthetic dialogue. Asshole. 

“I mean. Uh. It happened.”

“Well, yeah.” Frank sure as fuck hoped it had happened. “But. Like?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Yeah you do.

“I mean. Okay, uh.” Frank took a breath, time to actually use sentences. “So, uh, could we be like, a thing? Or was that just a weird one time deal?”

“Uh.” Gerard had another mouthful of chips and took a moment to swallow. “Well. We could be a thing, I guess. Maybe.”

“Would you be opposed to it?”

“Uh. I don’t know?” Gerard’s voice rose with the intonation of a question; he sounded like a high schooler that wasn’t sure if he was giving the correct answer. “That was, uh, that was nice, though.”

“It was?”

“Well. Yeah. I dunno if I’d have chosen for it to happen that way, but it was nice anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno. That whole day was weird. I just felt weird. This whole thing is weird now.” That much had been obvious. Laying in a casket that resembles that of your beloved deceased grandmother isn’t exactly not weird. Talking about your previous homosexual affair is certainly not not weird. Getting jerked off by your friend in that same casket is right out. “Do you want to be a thing?”

Frank had been thinking about it for months, debating it back and forth with himself. And with Jamia; he’d called her and told her about the coffin, albeit a watered-down version.  She had, understandably, not been the most thrilled about it. It took Frank a long while to figure out how to express what he felt.  _ “I still love you. But I also love him. Does that make sense?” “Not really, but I trust you.”   _ Maybe she thought he’d grow out of it.

Even after that, he still took a moment to answer. “Yeah, I wanna be a thing with you.” He still didn’t know what being a thing really entailed when it came to Gerard. Saying yes out loud felt like actually committing something. Or rather, committing to something; to say committing something makes it sound like it’s a crime. Maybe it is. Who cares. “I definitely want us to be a thing.” He was saying it to confirm with Gerard, but maybe he was also saying it to confirm with himself.

Gerard had finished off his bag of chips and was busying himself with disposing of the bag and washing his hands. He dried his hands on his jeans, leaving dark splotchy prints on the middle of his thighs. Frank watched him, waiting for him to speak next. Instead, Gerard came and sat next to Frank on the couch. “This won’t mess with the band, will it?”

“I dunno. I wouldn’t think so, we’re all okay with. Y’know, gays.”

“Well, yeah. But. Maybe it’s shitty to say this, but if we fight or something–”

“We’re not gonna let it fuck up the band. If we can’t handle this like adults, then we should just not even start. Deal?”

Gerard gave one of his crooked half-smiles. “Deal.” 

“And, uh, I guess since that’s settled. I had something else to ask.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s still about January.”

“Okay…?”

“I, uh. I don’t know if you remember, but, uh, I said some things, and I dunno your actual opinion on them, and–”

“You mean about the kinky shit.”

“Yeah.” Frank sighed. “I mean about the kinky shit.”

“What kinky shit? What happened in January?” Frank and Gerard both froze. Mikey had spoken, and was now standing across the lounge. He always was like a ghost, walking around on the bus. “What the fuck, are you two fucking?”

Gerard tried to invent a cover-up “Mikey, it’s–”

“Oh my god. Oh my God! What the fuck!” Mikey directed his gaze at Frank. “You! How  _ dare _ you?”

“How dare I what? What the fuck, Mikey?”

“You just! You! Agh!” Mikey couldn’t articulate himself. He was mad. And of course, Mikey is one of those unfortunate people who cry when they’re angry. So Mikey was angry and crying at the other two, completely failing to get his point across. He threw his hands up and headed back to his bunk, taking extra care to stomp his feet a little bit.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why was he mad at you?”

“I don’t know!”

“I mean. I should talk to him about this. But I really don’t think he wants to talk right now.”

“No, I don’t think he does either.”

“Should we save our discussion for another time?”

“I guess. It feels gross now. Let’s just go to bed.”

Frank couldn’t sleep, of course. His organs swished with a sense of guilt. What had he done to upset Mikey? Was it just because he fucked Gerard? As if to answer him, his phone lit up with a text message from Mikey.

[i am not goin 2 talk 2 u in person about this]

[okay?]

[how long have u been fucking g]

[just once]

[when]

[january]

[why]

What do you mean “why,” asshole? [why what?]

[why him] What the fuck did that mean?

[what?]

[why do u love him]

[as opposed to who?]

[why not me]

Oh.

_ Oh. _

It clicked for Frank. Mikey hanging around with him all tour. Mikey grinding on him at clubs like a horny teenager. Mikey bringing him coffee just “to be nice.” Mikey having the worst puppy dog eyes at Frank around Eyeball. Mikey still being nice to him after they didn’t even let him in Pencey. Mikey making sure Frank wasn’t too sick, Mikey making sure Frank was at least moderately happy. Frank had always assumed that’s just how Mikey  _ was _ . He’d never even noticed, and now he felt as if he’d stolen five years from this kid’s life. 

[i didn’t know you felt that way about me] Frank paused for a moment before adding [i am sorry]

He heard Mikey sigh from his own bunk. [i cant blame u 4 it] 

Frank hesitated, not sure what to say to that. He didn’t have to say anything, Mikey texted again.

[but i want 2]

* * *

_ _ **_July 20, 2005 - Indianapolis, Indiana_ **

“We’re staying in town tonight, y’know.” Frank dragged his fingertips lazily over Gerard’s exposed arm. 

“Yeah?” Gerard squirmed a little closer to Frank’s chest. “What about it?”

“I was thinking we could sneak off and get a room. Y’know, just the two of us.” He gave Gerard’s shoulder a little squeeze.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.” 

The silence of the morning imposed once more. This had been their habit recently, occupying the bus lounge when everyone else had gone to bed. It was rare to be truly alone on tour. Most of their erotic experiences were rushed. Backstages. Bathrooms. Hiding behind buses. Sometimes they even snuck off the fairgrounds to fool around. They’d tried the bunks, there wasn’t much room to work with. Plus the other guys were usually around. That’d be a bit awkward. 

“Hey, Gerard? I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Is it that January something?”

“Yeah. When we, uh, y’know. I said some. Stuff. At the end.”

“Mhm, you did.”

“And it was a little. Uh. I dunno. But uh. Would you actually be into that?”

“I don’t know if I’d be into it. I’ve never tried it before.” He quickly added, “but I’d be willing to try it with you.”

“You would?”

“Yeah.” He paused a moment, thinking. “I feel like we should discuss it though. Like, beforehand.”

“Oh, yeah, that would be good. Uh. I guess a safeword would be smart. Any ideas?”

“No. Won’t ‘stop’ just work?”

“That might get mixed up with ‘don’t stop.”

“Huh.” The two thought for several moments, volleying words back and forth and rejecting suggestions. “Subways.”

“Subways?”

“Yeah, subways. Generally pretty un-sexy places.”

“We can do that. What made you think of it, though?”

“I dunno. Random memory. Being on a train at this hour, how empty it was. Hollow. Absent. Meaningless.”

* * *

**_October 24, 2006 - New York City, New York_ **

Frank found himself biting into his hand. His right hand, it should be specified: “Hallo.” His left hand was blissfully engaged with Gerard’s butchered blond locks. “Ween.” If he weren’t having his dick sucked, Frank might’ve noticed the irony. Or maybe he did notice, had planned it. People often asked, he never told them the truth. Gerard’s hair was tugged slightly out of Frank’s grip, the former’s head bobbing. Frank noted the way his fingers moved easily through the hair, shockingly free of tangles; he removed the hand from his mouth enough to speak, but it hung in the air just in front of his face.

“Do you remember that time I got my hand stuck in your hair?” 

Gerard had to actually pause and remove the dick from his mouth. “Frank, what the fuck.”

Frank was smiling now, trying to restrain laughter. “Yeah, you remember? It was so knotty I got stuck. We had to fuckin’ detangle it.”

Gerard smiled a bit of his little crooked smile. Maybe in spite of himself. He’d been in the zone, for once. “Yeah. That was a mess.” 

 

* * *

 

**_November 29, 2006 - Providence, Rhode Island_ **

It was a fucking miracle they were touring like this. It was a fucking miracle that this record even got out, Frank had decided. A lot had happened, to them as people especially. The whole world felt a little different. The recording process had been fucked up in that mansion. Everything in that mansion had been fucked up. Frank had thought he’d seen some pretty raw things in his lifetime, but he had been proven horribly wrong by some shitty haunted house. Even just by one specific room in that shitty haunted house.

They’d decided it would help the band get closer, to have the Heavy Room. Heavy, both for the dark wood panelling and thick curtains making the gravity of the room feel double, but also because of its function. You took somebody into the Heavy Room when you wanted to rip them apart, when you wanted to point out each and every one of their flaws as a human being. Sometimes, in the process of ripping someone else apart, you ripped yourself apart as well. Frank remembered one night in particular in the Heavy Room, a two-in-the-morning session with Mikey after the latter had heard his brother moaning from two rooms over. 

“I hate that you’re fucking my brother.”

“I know.”

“They why do you do it?”

“Because we love each other.”

“That’s not a good enough answer.”

“Then what is, man? What is?”

Mikey pouted and sank deeper into his armchair. Frank stood up and went to go read through the titles on the bookshelf; these silences happened a lot, and could go on forever. There was a set of encyclopedias, dusted over thoroughly, Frank suspected, because no one who lived in a house like this ever read. Mikey never really shouted during these things, that was usually left to Frank and Gerard and sometimes Bob.

They had trucks of shit on tour. They had buses full of people. They had uniforms. They had a blimp, they had a fucking blimp. What the fuck was that. This tour was so over the top and it felt so deserved after the ordeals of the previous album. It was outlandish and just ridiculous enough to maybe work, like some sort of super villain’s plan for world domination. 

And before that, what had tour been? Tour had been like. A nice bus with a studio in the back. Tour had been not eating only chips and salsa at venues to avoid starving to death. Frank thought back to their previous tours. The van days were always wild. He thought about the first big tours. The first time he’d been to Europe. Japan. He thought about Warped, and how they’d packed away dozens of bands and shipped them around the country like the sisterhood of the travelling skinny jeans or some shit. 

Back in the mansion, Mikey had walked over to stand next to Frank, his footsteps silent on the thick rug. “I hate this.”

“Hate what, me and Gerard? You’ve made that crystal clear, dude.”

“No. Well, okay, yeah. But.”

“But what?”

“I hate just. This.”

“What is this?”

“Us. I hate how this is now. I hate how this turned out.” He sighed. “This sounds like a cliche, but I hate that I feel this way about you. It’s fucking childish, but I can’t stop it. Maybe one day I’ll fucking get over it.”

“It’s not childish. It’s human. I think, at least.”

“How does he feel about you and Jamia?” The question was a sudden topic change to negate the fact that Mikey disagreed about being childish.

“Hm? Oh, uh, he’s pretty okay with it. They’re both okay with it.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Almost as an afterthought, Mikey added, “I’m not sure I would’ve been able to do it.”

Frank really hadn’t wanted to sit there and listen to Mikey go on about this. He’d done it like eight times in the house before. I hate that I love you, I wish we could have been, maybe I’m not good for you anyway, it just kept going and going. Frank felt bad about not wanting to hear it, because it was partially his fault. He’d let Mikey’s flirtations go unwatched and now he had to deal with the result. Frank turned to look Mikey in the eyes for his next question.

“Do you regret telling me how you felt?”

Oh god, Mikey looked exhausted. The bags under his eyes made it look as if he had been punched: double shiner, two-for-oh. His face looked thinner, more worn. His mouth was always tight pressed nowadays. “No. Never.”

Frank didn’t know what made him remember that discussion. Maybe it was the shit weather. He remembered the venue they were in tonight, maybe that was it. He nearly laughed at how cliche it was. Of course they were playing in a place called Heartbreak Hotel. 

* * *

**_December 14, 2006 -  Somewhere between Chicago and Detroit_ **

The buzz stays around – if you’ve performed in front of large crowds, you already know this; it sticks on your skin like a disease. The buzz stays around, it feels like there’s a million bees under your skin itching to get out. Frank always hated the buzz. When he went onstage, he tried to let everything out. Sweat, mostly. And spit. And blood sometimes. Blood was always a fun time. But he could never get the buzz out.

The bus was wheeling right on, taking them to the next venue, the next show, the next buzz. Frank always wondered when it would ever end, if it ever would. No matter how deep in his brain he dug, he could never find an end date. “Fuck.”

“Hm?” Gerard had been digging in the piles of stuff in the back lounge for. Whatever. Probably his hoodie, he loved to sleep in it. He was always cold. He hogged the blankets whenever he could. Frank always joked how he hated it, but he always meant he loved it. When did telling someone you hated them become code for saying you loved them? 

“I was just. Thinking. Y’know.”

“D’you wanna talk about it?” That was Gerard’s new trend, talking about feelings. Well, right up until he couldn’t do it anymore and clammed the fuck up. There was never a warning for that. Frank thought of it like skating on thin ice. 

“I mean. Just? I dunno.” Because that was insightful.

“Okay.” Gerard busied himself with digging again. He plucked the hoodie up like a stray pup, dangled from the neck. Frank could tell Gerard wanted him to talk about what he was thinking. That’s what Gerard did, he wanted to know what was on your mind, even if you couldn’t begin to guess what was on his. Frank noticed the slender curves of Gerard’s body as the latter reached up to turn on the stereo; he’d gotten thinner, but his body would never be as defined as his brother’s. Music began to play. Gerard sat back down. “But really though, what’s bothering you?”

_ Long ago, and oh so far away. _ Frank guessed Gerard had been using the song for warmups again. “Just. When does this end?”

“When does what end?”

“This lifestyle? Like. When do we know we made it?”

“I dunno, man.” He sighed. The music kept going. “I don’t know if it ends.”   _ But you’re not really here, it’s just the radio. _

Frank let the conversational silence settle for a minute. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted it to end. Gerard was biting at his lower lip, his teeth ripping at the inside of his mouth. “If it ends, will you still love me? Y’know, on the other side?” Frank hadn’t meant to blurt it out.   _ Don’t you remember you told me you loved me, baby? _

“Of course I will. We can even live together, if you wanna. And make pancakes or some shit. I could totally be your trophy wife.” Gerard’s crooked smile flashed, Frank could see he’d worried his lip enough to bleed. “But yeah. I’ll still love you, even if it ends.” The song drew to a close.  _ I love you, I really do. _

* * *

**_February 5, 2007 - technically it was Perth, Australia, but all of Australia looked the same to Frank sometimes_ **

Frank always kinda knew he’d marry Jamia, it just always made sense. Tigers had stripes, the rain fell down, it was just the natural way of things. That’s how he had explained it to Gerard several weeks prior. “I guess it makes sense, yeah. Good for you, man.” That had been all he’d really said before the wedding.

The subject really didn’t come up afterward. There was touring and interviewing and traveling to be done, moments for intimate conversation were limited. Every time Frank tried to catch Gerard alone, Gerard would rush off to talk to someone else or otherwise leave. It was frustrating, to say the least. Frank fell back on hanging out with Mikey again. 

“I just don’t get it. He doesn’t want to talk to me now? Just a month ago he had my-”

“Please don’t.” Mikey hadn’t even reacted, just took a sip of his water. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

“He just. He’d talked so much about how okay he was with me and Jamia and how it was so great, and now he’s pulling this shit. What does that even mean?”

“You know how he works. He doesn’t realize how stuff is until after it happens.” Mikey thought for a moment. Frank noticed the sweatdrops on his upper lip. “Are you sure you were really clear that you and him could still be a thing, even with you and Jamia?”

“Yeah? I mean. I thought I was clear.”

“You might wanna check up on that.”

“How? He doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

Mikey finally turned to look at Frank. His sunglasses were too dark to see his eyes, but Frank wasn’t sure he wanted to see the emotion in them anyway. “You want me to tell him?”

“You’d do that?”  _ Even after what happened? _

“Yeah.” There was no explanation why, there was nothing after it. Frank wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

Verification of Mikey’s task came a few hours later, as the buses rolled off to wherever was next. Frank’s phone buzzed with a text from Gerard.

[If you two are jinx-breaking, then we must be forever-jinxed.]

[i wonder how many sodas it takes to get rid of that]

* * *

**_September 3, 2007 - Englewood, Colorado_ **

Frank should’ve figured it out sooner, honestly. Gerard even made a joke about it onstage, chuckling about guys and girls getting on the horse and riding off into the sunset. But now, staring into the ceiling of his bunk, Frank realized he should’ve seen it coming. 

The whole tour Gerard had been with Lindsey. Hugging her. Holding her hand. Kissing her. Maybe that was the bit that hurt Frank most, the fact that she could kiss him in public while he and Gerard had to keep it a secret. He couldn’t even be mad at her for it. She didn’t know. He couldn’t even really be mad at Gerard about it.  _ Fuck you for going off and being happy, you bag of shit. _ . That’s not how it works.

But fuck, Gerard was  _ married _ .

Frank wasn’t even sure who to be mad at about it. Himself, probably. That’s usually how it was. He wanted to go and yell at Gerard about how unfair this was.  _ I told you months before I got married, you had plenty of time to deal with it and you didn’t! And now you pull this shit on me? _ . Some boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, it felt like at this point.

Frank had been in his bunk for some time apparently, because he heard several pairs of footsteps coming up the stairs. The clomp-clomp of Bob’s heavy-booted steps. He heard Ray say something about staying in the lounge for a bit. The third set of feet came tapping back to the bunks. Frank wished Mikey were still on tour, he’d ghost by the curtain and say “I’m so sorry,” then hide in his bunk and listen to what was coming. But Mikey wasn’t here. Frank vaguely wondered if anyone had told him his brother had gotten married, or if he should text him and let him know.

Gerard pulled the bunk curtain aside a bit. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You didn’t come.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

Gerard sighed. “It’s just. It’s complicated, Frankie.”

“Why can’t you just tell me you don’t love me anymore?”

“Because I do still love you. It’s just complicated.”

“Pretend it’s simple, just for my sake. Humor me.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

* * *

**_October 24, 2007 - Hoboken, New Jersey_ **

“But you really need to listen to me, because I’m telling you the truth.” Gerard was absolutely loving this crowd, the corners of his mouth turning up as they sang the bridge aloud. He did not approach Frank with the microphone as he often did. “I mean this, I’m okay!”

Frank thought of all the things he’d said during this song. “Trust me,” sure. Some highlights included “trust no one” and “fight me for an apple.” It had always been a spur of the moment thing. Now it wasn’t. He’d written this line out twenty-one days prior. 

“Lie to me!”

* * *

**_March 17, 2009 - Los Angeles, California_ **

Frank was thankful that he was able to grab a smoke alone. He should’ve known it was too good to be true when Gerard emerged from the building and joined him.

“Got a light?”

Wordlessly, Frank extended his lighter. Gerard’s hand barely graced his as he cupped the cigarette.

“So I was thinking.” Of course you were, Gerard. “I haven’t brought this up to the other guys yet, but I figured I should bounce it off you first.”

“Why me?”

“Because I trust you.”  _ Because you know I’d bend over backwards for you _ .

“What is it?”

Gerard took a drag and let it out, then took a deep breath. “I wanna scrap the record.”

“All of it?”

“No, just. Just most of it.”

“Why?” Frank knew why. They all hated it, except for him. He didn’t particularly love the music, but he knew the record was one of the only things holding them together. So he loved it.

“I just. I don’t think it means anything. Or like, it does, but not enough.”

Frank dropped his cigarette and ground it into the sidewalk with his heel. He’d picked that habit up again. “Do what you want, dude. You’re the visionary.” Frank had almost spat “you’re the artist,” but that wouldn’t mean enough. He turned to go back inside.

Gerard grabbed his arm. “You’re sure?”

“I’m not gonna stop you. Do whatever you want.”  _ But for god’s sake, don’t stop doing it. _

* * *

**_February 22, 2011 - Newcastle, England_ **

The setlist said Famous Last Words was next. He was doing the tunings for it. Ray was mirroring him across the stage. Mikey was in the back by the drums, where he always was. That was the plan, that had always been the plan. Plans are how shit gets done, which is why what Gerard was doing was so catastrophic. 

Well, less what he was doing. What he was doing was kneeling by the drums, fidgeting with the microphone. Which really wasn’t abnormal. James was doing something with the keyboard and the synth, letting it wail out of the speakers like a cross between a pipe organ and a murdered woman. 

“Long ago, and oh so far away,” Gerard had begun to sing. Those were not the lyrics to Famous Last Words. “I fell in love with you before the second show.” The vowel in ‘show’ warbled out. Gerard didn’t look at Frank; he was still tinkering with the microphone. It almost seemed as if he was just testing it, and this was the first song he thought of. Frank’s hand froze on the tuning pegs. He dared to shoot a look to the back of the stage. Gerard didn’t look at him. 

“Your guitar makes such a sad, sad sound.” Those weren’t the lyrics to Famous Last Words either. Those weren’t even the right lyrics to this song. This wasn’t in the plan, this was off-book. “But you’re not really here, it’s just the radio.” Frank tried to sneak another look back there, to catch Gerard’s eye. Gerard still wasn’t looking his direction, but Mikey was. They didn’t even use the usual eyebrow-wriggle dialect that Mikey used to communicate without words, it was just a look. Mikey’s eyes were wide, he nodded slightly. He and Frank traded places onstage, Mikey going forward to embrace the audience, Frank retreating back to the drums. As he walked, Frank pulled his guitar up to his chest, hugging it close. 

“Don’t you remember you told me you loved me, baby?” Gerard was still kneeling, but he’d stopped fidgeting with the microphone. His eyes were shut and his body was still. There was no way to read what was going through his head. He wasn’t facing the audience, this wasn’t meant for them. Frank let his eyes shut as well, he tucked his head down to his chest. He thought of the mornings they could’ve had, pancakes and pajamas and– “Don’t you love me, don’t you love me baby?” 

“I love you. I really do.” Frank muttered it quietly into his chest. Gerard didn’t hear. 

This was a soft victory. This was a quiet triumph. This meant that Gerard maybe still cared. Or maybe this was a rule-breaking, taking half the steps in a duel and turning around early. Maybe Gerard was just playing with him now. Frank let go of his mental images and took a few steps back. “Don’t you remember you told me you loved me, baby?” 

Gerard finally looked at him. Frank cracked out a smile, it seemed the most appropriate response. 

* * *

**_January 8, 2013 - New Jersey_ **

The kids had gone to bed early. Maybe that was the difference between calamity and catastrophe here. That’s a really slim margin of saving grace. The kids had gone to bed early; Jamia had set them down to bed early, at least. And now, off-duty, Frank and Jamia were watching. Whatever. On the TV. Frank didn’t know the name of the show. Jamia loved it, so he liked it too. The Main Actor Dude had just said something to the Token Blonde Lady, who looked offended. But Frank knew Token Blonde Lady was sleeping with Main Dude’s Edgy Younger Brother. So there was that. Frank probably would’ve been a lot more into the show if he hadn’t missed so much of the earlier seasons. From what he had gathered, Token Blonde Lady and her Suspiciously Missing Brother had been set up to receive a large inheritance of a deceased relative who no one seemed to notice had clearly been fucking murdered. 

Frank’s phone buzzed. A text from Gerard. Frank glanced at the time, 10:24 PM. So it was 6:24PM in Los Angeles. Probably nothing concerning, then. 

[Hey, I’ve got something serious to tell you, is now an ok time?]

Because that’s not fucking concerning at all. An okay time. Not a good time, an okay time. Okay implies that there would never be a good time for this news, whatever it was. Frank quickly typed back.

[yeah, r u ok? do u need to call?]

[Yeah, I’m fine.] There was a pause, the little typing ellipsis floating. And then, [I’d rather say it over text.]

[ok]

The typing bubble came back. And it held there, a long note. Frank locked his phone, Gerard was just taking forever to type. Yeah. Just slow-ass texter Gerard. The minutes flew by. Token Blonde Lady was now talking to Young Brunette Secretary who worked for Older Boss Lady. Blonde Lady whispered something threatening to Secretary. Secretary made a face and whispered something back more aggressively. Blonde Lady just smiled and left the office. Scenes like this made Frank a little glad he didn’t have a desk job. Or a murderer for a sister. Before Frank really knew it, the episode was over. He looked at the clock again. 11:09PM. No text from Gerard. More than a little concerning. Frank swiped his phone open. The little typing bubble was still there. And then it vanished again. And then it was back. What the fuck was Gerard doing. 

Jamia went to bed. Frank told her that he’d join her in a little while, just had to talk to someone. She didn’t seem particularly pleased about it, but didn’t ask. Another few minutes rolled by. Finally, the phone buzzed bright with a new text from Gerard. 

[I don’t know how to say this nicely.] That was it? All that typing and that was it? 

Frank moved quick. He switched to the actual phone function of the phone and tapped Gerard’s name. Before Gerard could even answer with anything, Frank blurted out, “Then just say it.” Say it and mean it. 

“The band is done.”

Frank’s entire world skipped back. The scratch of a vinyl. The way you flinch when you think you see someone out of the corner of your eye. 

“What?”

“The band is over, Frank. We’re gonna break up.”

“Oh. Ok.” The floor was gone, the air was gone, gravity was gone, the light in the kitchen was gone. Time itself had probably gone too, but for sake of narration it stayed; a cold moment passed before Frank said anything else. “Thanks. Bye.”

“That’s it? You don’t want to hear why?”

“Not from you.” Frank hung up before Gerard could say anything else, or before he started yelling or crying or something. 

Just a moment ago, not yet ten lines, Frank had thought that words should be meant when spoken. Now, words had no meaning. Time had lost meaning, maybe that was it. The kitchen light had lost meaning. Gravity lost meaning, the air had lost meaning, the floor had lost meaning. Nothing meant anything anymore. Everything meant nothing now. Fuck it. He felt fucking betrayed. He felt cheated and insulted, almost. He felt everything. He felt hollow. His heart seemed to ache with it. And for all the things that Frank’s heart felt, his mind was shockingly blank. 

He had pictured it differently. In person, to begin with. Maybe seated around a coffee table, with a single light overhead in some shapeless and dark room. Four men deciding what to do. Frank would have the right things to say, he’d have a plan; at the very least, he’d have a thought. But now, nothing. Nine years ago, if you’d have asked Frank how he thought the band would go, he would’ve maybe scoffed at you. He would’ve told you how the band wasn’t going anywhere but up, stop fucking around. If you had asked Frank seven years ago how he thought the band would go, he would have told you that they’d go out at the top. Blaze of glory type deal. If you had asked Frank three years ago how the band would go, he’d have told you that they would go when they had finally gotten their message across. That’s how it is. When you’re not at the end, you don’t plan for it, you plan to avoid it. When you’re at the end, you don’t plan for it, you plan for damage control. 

Gerard didn’t text back after that. The little “Read 11:16PM” thing popped up. Whatever. Gerard wasn’t the person Frank wanted to talk to. Frank wanted to go outside. He wanted to stand on his front lawn and feel the snow under his feet. He wanted to stand stock still and look at the sky and scream at God or whatever. He wanted to pace the block until dawn, until things stopped. Doing. Whatever they were doing. But of course, you can’t just go outside at night, that’s reserved for people in movies and people with deathwishes. So he settled for calling Mikey from the comfort of his kitchen floor. 

Mikey picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Frank.”

“The band.” His voice sounded dull, everything was dull. 

“What?”

“The band!”

“What about the band?”

“Gerard said we broke up.”

“Yeah, but that was like, two weeks ago– Oh my god, he didn’t tell you.”

“You. You knew?”

“He told me and Ray like two weeks ago. Over coffee. Did he. Did he just tell you now?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

“Oh my god. He told us that he’d told you the night after we found out.”

“You found out two weeks ago?”

“Yeah.” Mikey took a deep breath, Frank pictured him running his hand through his hair. “Holy shit. I’m really sorry, Frank.” Another breath. “Are you okay? What did he say?”

“He just. Texted me. That it was over.”

“He. Texted you? And that was it? Oh my god, Frank–”

“I told him okay. And then he asked if I wanted to know why, and I said no–”

“You don’t?”

“I said not from him.” Frank took a breath. “I want to hear it from you.” Mikey had the common sense not to ask why. He knew why. Maybe Frank knew why, but he was too stubborn to admit it. 

“Well. It’s. Weird. He didn’t really decide it on his own, but he kind of did? Like. He asked Ray and me if we thought it was the right thing to do.”

“And you said it was?”

“Well, it was the right thing for him right now.” Mikey sniffled, maybe he was catching a cold. “He’s, uh. He said he was getting bad again.”

“Bad. Like, before?”

“Yeah.” Another sniffle. “And I don’t think any of us really noticed. I didn’t think it was that bad. But he said to me and Ray, he said to us that he’d die if he went back to that. And the band was pushing him down that path. He asked us to choose between the band and him, pretty much.”

“And you chose him.”

“We all would’ve. You’d be a fucking monster not to.” 

“So that’s it? That’s. Why it’s done?”

“Well, that was the big thing, I guess.”

“What else?”

“Just. Creative differences, I guess. Him and Ray and you. And I mean, you and Ray had been arguing more than–”

“Not enough to break up the band!”

“Yeah, not that much, but maybe it just added to it all. Straw that broke the camel’s back, yeah?”

Frank sighed. “Yeah.” He heard Mikey sniffle again on the other end of the line. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, y’know.” No, he didn’t know, but in the Mikey vernacular, that meant don’t ask.

“I can’t believe it’s over.” There wasn’t really a feeling behind it. Unless disbelief is a feeling. Overwhelming disbelief. Numbing disbelief. 

“Well, not exactly. He, uh. He told us now, but we’re not gonna officially do anything for a few weeks. And we’re not gonna tell the fans for a while.”

“Why?”

“Well, first I think he wants to just see how it is. And what life is gonna be like and stuff. And then there’s the whole record label thing.”

“Oh fuck. They’re gonna skin us alive.”

“Gerard said he’d handle it. He said, if he was gonna break the band up, he would deal with them.”

“That’s. Noble, I guess.”

“Yeah.” 

The two went silent for a few minutes.

“Mikey?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you picture us breaking up?”

“Hm. I always kinda figured we’d just run out of music to make one day. And we’d all be old.”

“Oh.”

“How did you think it would happen?”

“I didn’t think it would.”

* * *

**_January 14, 2013_ **

_   i’m a little coffee pot short, stout, and burnt beyond recognition. sour to the taste and an and, and an and, and an and, and the end… _

_what a dark mess of additives we’ve become._

_ look through my caffeinated eyes my love. i can see the sun in all its ultra violet glory. it beckons me to put off a life filled with procrastination… at least until we have the time to waste. _

_   but all i wanted for xmas was a purpose, or maybe to float 5 lines deep. _

_(4.3.2.)_

_one time i felt like i belonged, but that’s neither here nor there._

_ i can ride for miles and miles and miles and sleep for only minutes. no control but not exactly a riot either. _

_(fuck, you’re such a riot.)_

_ healing powers beyond my wildest dreams, come from behind those lips. i am the dinosaur proudly soaring towards extinction.  _ **_so smoke ‘em if you got 'em kids… cause joe camel needs the pocket cash. or just read 'em and weep cause my royal flush comes with a love note. i bleed spades, you draw horses…… we all go fish for compliments._ **

_may the lord strike down our penniless heroes,for if not we must take matters into our own hands. and everything will be new again when we open our eyes for the very first time._

**_so i’ll pick you up at 7 and we’ll have a real shitty time, but at least we’ll have a time._ ** _ i’d love you to hate my guts if they weren’t already covered in these damned ulcers, ulcers only a mother could love. _

_so for now…peace, love, and misdemeanors. because i plan on being out of step for a while dear._

* * *

**_January 15, 2013_ **

Gerard texted him. 

[Are you okay? Mikey told me what you said.]

Frank didn’t answer. _ _

* * *

**_January 17, 2013_ **

_ step outside into a charcoal drawing. it’s a familiar place you hated as a kid, but have metastasized a new found respect for once your back started aching on the reg.  _

_ hometowns are hell, until you’ve actually seen hell…and a sight like that can not be unseen. but upon viewing, home will transform into a paradise, your paradise, and local haunts will become exactly that. a place in which you would be happy to linger forever, trying your damnedest to escape that tunnel of light.  _

**_people very rarely last forever. the old must be old for a reason, and the good, as they say, die young in car crashes and chic drug overdoses. probably before they have the time to realize how much bad shit you can really get away with and still be considered ‘good’._ **

_ so what of the rest of us? the ones that hover and watch. witnesses. painfully mediocre. at peace with the world happening to us. not good, not bad, not old, not young…just in attendance. eh, it doesn’t matter. _

_   because you can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you’re eligible for some sort of government assistance. or at the very least a half price app at your neighborhood greasy spoon…but its the little things people, that’s what i’m getting at.  _

_ you wont realize it now, in fact you probably won’t get it until its almost too late. but we all do get the wake up call. some of us lucky/unlucky bastards answer it just before the t.v. sizzles…(find someone you love, and make 'em love you damnit)…and we realize that in this world diseased with the celebration of stupidity, absurdity, and precious(paper)metal commercialism (these things, these motherfucking things, we’ll drown in things!) the only 'thing’ that really matters is an honest smile from someone who truly gives a shit about you totally, completely, and unconditionally.  _

_ but try using that smile to buy a fifth of vodka these days. _

* * *

**_January 20, 2013_ **

Gerard texted him. 

[Frank, answer me.]

Frank didn’t answer. _ _

* * *

 

**_January 25, 2013_ **

_ at long last maybe the time has finally come for yours truly to take control of the uncontrollable.  _

_                                               to predict the inevitable.  _

_                                              to accept or expect, rather, the unexpected…. _

  1. _no seriously, fuck that._



_ a life infested with rats and the traps are hungry. a sea of life rafts, but the sharks are circling. and they’re desperately trying to put in their drink order before last call. _

_ reasons not rules. _

_ fight for your right to parlay. _

_ if seeing is believing, ive been legally blind since 1987. but i still cant dance (and i cant sing even though i enjoy showing off my lack of talent to elevator music and commercials on the home and garden network).  _

_ so if B is for bed rest, and beestings, and boy dogs who cant keep their dick’s in their fur.  _

_ and C is for shut the fuCkup before you over stay your fuCking welCome. _

_ then i guess i’ll B C-ing you next semester, because im Addicted to my Depression,  _

_ fuckers. _

* * *

 

**_January 27, 2013_ **

Gerard texted him. 

[It’s official. Just so you know.]

Frank didn’t answer. _ _

**_January 29, 2013_ **

_ Once upon a time, in a place long but forgotten, there resided a town surrounded on all sides by a great forest.  The town was populated with all different types of people, as towns sometimes are. And the forest was inhabited by all different types of animals, as forests sometimes are. The townspeople and the animals led separate but connected lives, and all lived in harmony. Until one day… _

_A middle-aged man from the town was out in the woods gathering food for his family and happened upon a large grizzly bear. ‘Hello.’ the man said, and asked the bear if he knew a shortcut back to town, as it was getting cold these days and dark was quickly approaching. The bear, feeling the cold as well and sensing the man’s fatigue, quickly attacked and messily devoured the man._

_     That night the man’s family stayed up all night waiting for him to come home. Growing more anxious and afraid with every passing hour, they watched the night turn into day. When he did not show up, they went to the other people of the town and together formed a search party.  The townspeople scoured the surrounding woods until dawn the next morning. It was then the search party found evidence of the man’s attack and death.  Frightened and sad, the people ran back to their homes and hid. The peace between the town and the forest had been shattered.   _

_     Meanwhile, news of the murder spread quickly throughout the forest, and the animals called a meeting. The old rabbit addressed the crowd, “There has been peace between our forest and the town for as long as I can remember. But now blood has been shed, and I can only imagine what the people might do to avenge one of their own.”  _

_ “The grizzly bear has done a terrible thing. He offended the town and put us all at risk.” Said the wolf. “But don’t be afraid…I know just what to do. Leave it to the wolves to fix everything.” _

_ The animals all agreed to let the wolf pack handle the situation, desperately hoping that he could somehow restore peace and make things right in their world once again. _

_      As night settled on the land, the wolf pack snuck through the woods and into the cave where the grizzly bear was sleeping. Quietly the wolves surrounded him, and before the bear awoke, the wolves attacked and killed him. The pack ate until they were full, and brought what was left of the bear to the edge of the forest for the townspeople to find. _

_ “Let this offering be penance to the people of the town. May the grizzly’s death quell their anger and fear, and his meat fill their bellies.” Said the wolf.  The pack decided to hide there in the bushes to make sure the townspeople received their offering. _

_     The next morning the townspeople awoke to find the bloody carcass of the grizzly spread across the entrance of their town. Screams filled the air. “It’s a warning!” yelled one townsperson. “What kind of beast could do this to a grizzly bear? We don’t stand a chance!” screamed another. The leaders of the town decided, in order to keep the people calm and everyone safe, they should all gather together in the church until they could come up with a plan. Overhearing the people’s commotion, the wolf came up with a new plan of his own to bring order to their world.  _

_Under cover of darkness the wolf pack snuck through the forest, into the town, and without a sound they surrounded the church where all of the townspeople had gathered. When the wolves were sure everyone inside was fast asleep, they leapt through the windows of the church and killed everyone inside._

_ In the following days word of what the wolves had done traveled through the forest. Upon hearing this, the old rabbit went to the wolf’s den to confront him. “I thought you were going to restore peace! You assured us you knew exactly what to do, and yet all you have brought upon us is more murder! Why would you do this?” asked the rabbit. _

_    Calmly, the wolf replied, “…Because, I am a wolf.” And without hesitation he devoured the rabbit. _

_The end._

* * *

**_February 14, 2013_ **

Gerard texted him. 

[Happy Valentine’s day. Send Jamia my love.]

* * *

**_February 26, 2013_ **

Gerard texted him.

[Are you alright? Why won’t you talk to me?]

* * *

**_February 27, 2013_ **

Gerard texted him.

[Why will you talk to Mikey and not me?]

* * *

**_March 5, 2013_ **

Gerard tried to call him. Frank didn’t answer.

* * *

**_March 21, 2013_ **

Gerard texted him.

[Tomorrow’s the day. Just so you know.]

* * *

**_March 30, 2013_ **

_ greetings friends and acquaintances, on-lookers and rubberneckers, enemies and indifferents, believers and fakers, _

_ i needed to take some time to myself this past week. i felt a moment (or maybe a few moments) of silence was deserved and required. it was my intention to let the dust settle a bit, not form, on the recent mychem announcement. a large chunk of my life (jeez, almost half my life) was devoted to that band and all that went with it, and i felt a week of quiet reflection was the least i could do to honor it and all involved. _

_   i have written, deleted and rewritten this letter way too many times than i care to remember. i am not much for eulogies so i will keep this short and to the point.  _ **_i don’t believe in holding back your feelings or emotions until it is too late. if you did not appreciate someone or something while they were still here then you have no business expressing cute anecdotes when they are no longer around to enjoy them_ ** _.  in the 12 years i have been in mcr i believe i have said all i needed and wanted to say about it when it counted. if you know me or have ever listened to me speak about mychem you know what it meant to me. i lived, breathed, and bled the band. i believed in and admired the things we created and the people that were involved in it (members and fans alike). for better or worse i held nothing back that i felt needed to be expressed. i loved my band with all i had and i have no regrets now that it is done. we began, we lived and we ended mcr for all the right reasons. _

_ if you were there you know how truly special a time it was…and if you weren’t, well then you probably wish you were.  _

_ thank you all for the memories, my scrapbook is overflowing and my heart is excruciatingly full.  _

_ now on to the next… _

_  xofrnk. _

* * *

**_March 30, 2013_ **

Gerard tried to call him. Twice.

Frank didn’t answer.

* * *

**_April 12, 2013_ **

Gerard called him.

Frank picked up by mistake. He held his breath, didn’t say anything. To hang up immediately would be suspicious. 

“Frank, I know you’re there. It’s me. I, uh. I’m worried about you. Just. Y’know.” Gerard took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh. “Why won’t you just talk to me?” He hung up.

* * *

**_May 14, 2013_ **

_ let’s not fool ourselves friends. the end of the world is here. _

_ when all the white noise runs dry and the alcohol gets turned down to a dull hum …all we may have is each other’s shitty company. _

_ (i will wait for you.) _

_ though our lips have not touched, we breathe the same air _

_ and as our molecules collide you shall know this to be true.  _

_ for if you don’t …well then maybe i’ve been wasting my time.  _

_ these things we say, are not just things we say…they are our lies and our truth. our love and our hate. _

_ and though my tongue may be sharp at times, in my heart i believe in us. _

_ let me decompose in this embrace and be reborn as a fond memory for the dust to settle on and enjoy. _

_ -settle down- _

_ the moments we’ve shared together, real or imagined, are just a preamble. _

_ i look forward to floating, lost, in our vastness. _

_ sediment-ally yours, _

_ frnk. _

* * *

**_October 23, 2013_ **

_ my flu shot made me sick. _

_ my blood work made me bleed. _

_ my coffee made me tired. _

_ my good looks made me a legend. _

_ cough cough laugh riot cough cough laugh riot _

_.pause. _

_ who will prop you up when you are just too weak to stand? _

_ who will mess up that face when you are just too pretty to leave this house? _

_ i fear for those that we love…(because they are loved by us.) _

_ i fear for those that we loathe…(because they are loathed by us.) _

_ doing my worst. doing the most damage. _

_ doing it first. inflicting the most damage. _

_ praying you’ll leave. hoping you don’t. _

_ trying to breath. hoping i won’t. _

_ guitar solo _

_ chorus _

_ done. _

* * *

**_November 14, 2013_ **

Gerard texted him. You know how this game is played.

[You can’t ignore me forever.]

[sure i can]

* * *

 

**_November 10, 2014 - London, England_ **

[An interviewer mentioned you today.] 

Frank hadn’t really been expecting a text from Gerard. Hoping for one, sure; the little surge of emotion he got from knowing Gerard still thought of him was what kept Frank alive some days, that little pang of electric guilt with a jolt of self-satisfaction and a few watts of feeling like a selfish asshole. Frank couldn’t help himself.

[what did they say?]

[They said you were in London. And asked if we would hang out.]

[oh weird lol]

So Gerard hadn’t known Frank was in the same city. Frank had known, of course; he had expected Gerard not to know, but it felt like a backhand slap anyway. He’d kept track of Gerard’s tours and interviews; he could handle those, it felt like Gerard was further away. He hadn’t watched any live shows, hadn’t listened to the record; that was too close, too real, Gerard was too alive. 

[Do you want to? Hang out. Or something.]

[if u want, sure]

[Let’s get coffee.] 

Gerard sent some cafe address. Frank told the cellabration he was going out, he didn’t say where. They seemed mildly suspicious but no one wanted to pry. That’s how it was, people you don’t want to pry always pry and people you hope ask don’t ask. C’est la vie. 

Frank was a few minutes late to the coffee shop. He’d gotten lost, which was dumb, but then he hesitated in a side alley, which was shitty. Maybe he didn’t want to really see Gerard. Maybe this was a terrible fucking idea oh my god Frank why did you do this to yourself, you shouldn’t have texted him back.  

[You still coming?] Fuck off Gerard, he’s having a moment. 

[be right there] Frank’s asshole feet were now carrying him around the corner and into the cafe. The smell of coffee was welcoming, at least. Gerard was hiding in the back corner, wearing several layers of jackets. His hair was a warm orange and he was hunched over his mug, probably because he was worried people would recognize him but probably because he fucking loved coffee. Some things don’t change, it’s funny like that. There was a second mug sitting across the table. Frank assumed it was for him. Gerard didn’t see him until Frank was pulling out the chair, and when he did, his face lit up.

“Hey Frankie.” There it was, always Frankie. Doting. Condescending. Or not, maybe Frank was just looking for something to be mad at. That thought came as a revelation to him; he wasn’t mad. He hadn’t been mad in years. Who was he supposed to be mad at? Gerard? For what, saving his own life again? For being a fucking martyr or something? You can’t blame people for who they are, Frankie. He knew that. 

“Hey man.” Frank slid into his seat and easily cupped his mug.

“It’s, uh, it’s been a while.” 

“Yeah, it has.” Flashbacks to red hair and sandy skin. Flashbacks to bus seats and backstages. Flashbacks to a casket. Flashbacks to a bathroom stall. Yeah, it had been a long time. Frank wondered what time had done to the both of them. 

“I, uh, I love the record.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I really do. I listened to it for like, a week straight when it came out.” Frank wondered if Gerard had actually listened to it, or if he’d just let it pass through his auditory functions. He found his answer in the fact that this meeting would’ve happened a lot sooner if Gerard had really listened. 

“Cool dude, glad you liked it. I uh, I really dig yours. Cool vibe.” Smooth lie, asshole. Frank hadn't listened to that record and he probably never would. We say things we don’t mean to steal a few fleeting moments from someone else. 

Theirs was idle chatter, the usual touring updates. Never enough socks and always too much spare time. The kids were all doing well. The wives were well. “What about you, Frank? Are you alright?”

“Uh. You know how it is.” No you don't. You have no fucking idea. 

“Yeah, I feel that.” You really, really don't. Gerard fiddled with his mug for a moment, both of their coffees were long empty. “Listen, uh.” He leaned forward over the table, sliding a hotel key. In theory, this sounds like a smooth move; in practice, Gerard nearly knocked over his own mug with his arm. “I, uh. I want you to come over tonight and we can talk again. Will you?”

Frank didn't hesitate. Maybe he should have. “Absolutely.”

Gerard leaned back in his seat again. “Cool.” His usual crooked grin. Something about it told Frank that this meeting was ending soon. Probably for the best, any longer and he'd be weeping in a coffeeshop. The goodbyes were just short of awkward. Frank made sure to stand far enough away so that he wouldn't be able to hug Gerard. 

The show went fine, it usually did. No one had asked where he had been. Frank half expected a fan to call him out on it. “I saw Goody Proctor with the Devil and I saw Frank Iero talking to Gerard!” Maybe Frank wanted someone to call him on it, then he could avoid going tonight. He didn’t know how it would end, but he knew that it would at least end; maybe that was why he dreaded going so much. 

He’d packed his shit away; the band was staying in town tonight, sleeping in the bus anyway. He’d left early enough that people were still awake. Evan asked where he was going. “Just a walk. Y’know.” Yeah, just a walk. A very long walk off a short pier. A very long walk to the bottom of the river. Just a walk. Y’know.

His hands shook the whole way. He debated sending Gerard a text saying he was on his way, but he didn’t think his hands would hold steady enough for that. His hands shook around the hotel room key. He wasn’t sure if his hands would hold steady enough to swipe it. Stop fucking shaking, hands. Gerard was sitting on the bed with a book, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, the usual post-show attire. He’d wiped the makeup off, probably showered. Maybe he’d even washed his hair; Frank felt flattered. “Hey, Frankie.”

“Hey man.” Frank took the desk chair and moved it a little closer to the bed. Shoes off. He could see the cover of the book from where he sat, something by Ursula Le Guin. “Isn’t that the uh, the short story you talked about a lot for Danger Days?” Frank absolutely knew it wasn't the story but it was the author, but he wanted to come off as casual. Maybe a bit edgy. And completely over it. Yeah, casual. 

“Hm? Oh, uh, it’s the same author.” 

“Yeah? What was that one called? Omelas or something?” Frank knew it was.

“Yeah, yeah, that was it.” Of course. Gerard had his same crooked grin on. The two fell into an alright silence for a moment. Maybe Gerard was thinking about what would happen next. It would be convenient, as Frank was thinking about what had already happened.

“Do you remember that night we painted the set for Vampires?”

“Yeah, and we got fuckin’ paint everywhere?”

“Yeah.” Frank sighed. “That was a good time.”

Gerard took a beat. 

“Why did we ever decide to stop being friends?” The way he said it was wrong, all wrong to Frank. 

“We didn’t.” Sharp.

“Yeah we did. Hence, why we didn’t do it.” Clearly it hadn’t been sharp enough. 

“ _ We _ never decided anything.” Things were about to go very far downhill. 

“Well I mean, when we all stopped talking-”

“Stop saying ‘we,’ Gerard. This wasn’t a ‘we’ thing, it was always a ‘you’ thing-” somewhere in there, Frank stood up. “It was on you, Gerard. You’re the one who fell apart and you’re the one who didn’t want to go where it was taking you and you’re the one who didn’t think to plan for another future. And nobody can blame you for that, but you can’t say this wasn’t a ‘you’ thing.” The eponymous “it” was the band, was their relationship, was their friendship; that “it” was almost everything to Frank. 

“Frank, I-”

“And like? You keep going around and giving all these interviews talking about how the machine had stopped working or whatever the fuck you’ve been saying, but it was never the machine that was broken, it was you, maybe it was us, but nothing about that band was broken. But you couldn’t stop there, no, you had to keep fucking switching your story on everyone. First it was that the story had ended, and then it was there was still gas in the tanks, you can’t even figure out your own story to tell people-”

“What I’ve been saying in interviews? What the fuck? What about what you’ve been saying? Acting like you’re glad it’s over, acting like this is some exciting new start?” Frank was shocked Gerard had actually kept an eye on the press.

“It’s all a lie, Gerard, it’s all a fucking lie. It’s all a lie! I haven’t felt really whole since that day you fucking texted me saying you wanted out. And like? What the fuck was that? Over text? Do you have any idea how fucking terrible that was? It was like getting punched in the fucking stomach over and over,” Frank was almost hitting hysterics, “and it never fucking ended, and the kids all keep asking about it, and every fucking time I have to sign another fucking Parade CD I wanna claw my fucking eyes out, and I keep hoping that Stomachaches is gonna take off into something big but I can’t do anything big ever again because it’ll kill me, whatever I made it out of your shitshow with wouldn’t survive another go, and-”

Frank hadn’t been mad all these years, he’d just been hurting. It came out now in sobs, all thick breaths and aching shoulders. Gerard pulled him close, wrapped his arms around him. Everything Frank had put into his little façade these last two years was being torn apart, pieces flying everywhere; it was almost as if Gerard was trying to keep the pieces together. Maybe that was too cliche. Maybe everything about this was too cliche. “Frank, Frankie, please breathe, Frankie-” Gerard’s voice caught in his throat somewhere. He kept holding Frank close, trying to get the sobs to quiet; after several throat-tight minutes, they did. Frank wasn’t really sure how he was going to justify this to Gerard or to himself; he didn’t think about it after he felt the press of lips against the top of his head.

“Don’t.” His voice faltered. “Please, don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“Please don’t do this.” Frank pulled away, wrapping his arms around himself. His face was still streaked with tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say any of that. I shouldn’t have come, I’m sorry.”

“Frank. Please, don’t be sorry.” Gerard took a hesitant step forward, then another. He pulled Frank back into an embrace and nuzzled his nose into the tangled mess of hair. His voice was low, soft, breathy. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. And I am. I’m sorry Frank, I’m so sorry. I was selfish for doing it, but I thought you could take it.”

“You thought I could take it?”

“You were always braver than me.”

“No, I’m a fucking coward.” Frank sniffled. “I’m just a better liar.”

Gerard craned his neck down and kissed Frank. Tender, sweet. Almost chaste. Maybe it was just out of habit, or instinct, or whatever. Frank pulled his face back.

“Please don’t.” His voice didn’t falter this time, it was sharp.

“Why not?”

“Don’t kiss me unless you mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

“I don't believe you.”

Gerard kissed Frank again, more urgently. His arms wrapped around Frank, pulling him close. Frank pulled away again, sharply and with more aggression than was needed. “I don’t believe you!” He was shouting now, maybe someone in the next room over would complain and send the hotel security and get Frank thrown out and end this whole fiasco.

“Why not?!” Auditory interrobang. Gerard had taken another step forward, his hands reaching halfway out to Frank. 

“Don’t come any closer!” Frank shouted it. The first moment happened quickly; Gerard, already halfway through a second step, moved closer. Frank, out of fearsorrowangst or some sort of instinct or whatever (he didn’t know why he did it) raised his open hand and slapped Gerard clean across the face. The second moment was their embrace. The moment between moments is where the story loses narration. 

Picture this: Gerard, eyes wide and rubbing his cheek.

Picture this: Frank, looking terrified of what he’d just done, his hand still raised and shaking. 

A look passed between them, two cars colliding.  _ I’m sorry _ headfirst into  _ I deserved that _ . The between time hung there like the dust motes flitting around the room. Whatever message Gerard took out of that slap contained all the emotion Frank had felt the last year and a half. 

“Oh my god, Gerard, I’m-” He didn’t get to finish. Gerard had pulled him close and was kissing him fully.  

“Take it out on me.” Between breaths. 

“What?” 

“Take it out. On me.” Frank couldn’t meet Gerard’s eyes, Gerard wouldn’t let that happen.

“You–” breath ”you want that?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.” Frank bit gently into Gerard’s lower lip. “You remember the word?”

Gerard had begun backing toward the bed, pulling Frank by the waist. He nearly stumbled over himself. “Yeah, subways.”

“Good.” Frank pulled Gerard’s hands off and shoved him back onto the bed. Maybe a little too roughly. Maybe not rough enough. “Stay there.” There was a mirror on the wall near the door – not anymore. Frank lifted it off the nails and carried it across the room. He leaned it against the wall and checked the angle. Good enough. “In your bag?”

“Yes.” Breathy once again, welcome back to summer.

Frank dug in the little backpack in the corner. Gerard had been expecting them to fuck. Condoms. Lube. Okay. But not enough. “Where are your ties?”

“In the suitcase.”

Frank yanked the zipper open. Ties. Cool. He turned back to face the bed. Gerard had slid his hand down the front of his pants. His belt lay loosely, undone and circling his waist in a batwing embrace.  Frank could see the motion of Gerard’s hand on his dick. “No touching.” Gerard didn’t stop, he let out a quiet moan; it was like he was challenging Frank. Frank, of course, accepted the challenge; he walked back over to the bed and yanked Gerard’s hand out of his pants. “I said no touching.” Gerard’s eyes opened and Frank could see them flitting back and forth, trying to meet his own. It’s a funny thing, you’ll only ever be able to look in one of someone’s eyes, never both. “You want your shirt on?” Gerard nodded yes. Frank pulled both of Gerard’s arms together. He could be rough with Gerard, but the shirt had always been an issue. Frank rememberer the first time he’d tied Gerard up, how he’d had to google it before. And how Gerard ended up stuck anyway. Frank was a little better at the knot now; around the wrists, cross the ends, loop it up and pull through. Gerard watched his hands at work, gave a little experimental tug when Frank was done. 

Gerard liked to keep the lights on. Frank liked the view from behind. Gerard was usually loud. Frank tried to be quiet. They really hadn’t skipped much of a beat, as far as fucking went. Their bodies weren’t so lucky, Gerard’s especially. Frank wondered how couples in movies did it, when they fall on the bed and are immediately ready to go in the throes of their passion. Their typical process seemed to go slower now, maybe for the better. Gerard’s hands were tied together in front of him, ass in the air like he was trying to do some bad yoga pose. They could both see themselves in the mirror Frank had moved. It really wasn’t that great. It wasn’t bad either. It was alright. Frank would later admit to himself that he didn’t really remember the sex at all. A few moments stood out:

“Do you have –  _ any idea –  _ what you do to me?” Gerard had moaned in response. “You make me feel like – like I'm sick – but I never want – to get better.”Give me medicine, make me ill.  It felt good to confess. 

Gerard’s ass was less firm now, the skin was still soft as ever. Frank always remembered how it felt to dig his fingers into that flesh.

No, no, the thing Frank really remembered was what Gerard had said after. They’d finished up. Frank was tugging his pants back on. 

“You’re not gonna stay?”

“Nah, the guys would get worried.”

“Oh. Okay. You’re welcome to stay, you know. You’re always welcome to stay.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “I always hate to see you go.”

  
  
  


**_November 11, 2014 - London, England_ **

Frank opened up his laptop, went to the internet. YouTube, whatever would play music. 

[hesitant alien]

//play

* * *

 

**_November 7, 2015 - Gainesville, FL_ **

There wasn’t a euphemistic way to put it; Roger had a really big crush on Frank. That makes it sound like middle school. Honestly, it was almost like middle school. Roger smoked more weed than the average middle schooler, maybe that was the only difference. That and no geometry homework. 

Frank didn’t realize it at first. Maybe Roger was just really friendly. Maybe Roger was just a very physical person. Maybe he was just  _ being nice you asshole, don’t be mean to this kid. _ That’s how it started too, just being physical and friendly. The pre/post-show high fives, maybe Roger would stick his arm around Frank when they posed with fans for a selfie. Those were normal, those were fine. Frank even admitted Roger had nice hands, the calluses were in all the right places. Someone who had played guitar for years, someone who maybe understood Frank a little better. Someone who didn’t have art in their hands. 

But then there were things more than that. The second night of tour on the bus, Roger asked what Frank’s back tattoos looked like in person. Sure, okay. The dude liked tattoos. Frank willingly stripped off his shirt and turned around. “Oh wow,” is what Roger had said. Frank expected the kid to touch him, he didn’t quite expect the warm drag of fingers on what felt like every detail line. “These are beautiful,” is what Roger had said. After a few moments, Frank realized Roger had stopped tracing the tattoos and was just following the natural curvature of Frank’s body. His spine, his arms, the dimples in his back. “You’re beautiful,” is what Roger had said. Frank turned around to say something, maybe tell Roger to be cool or something, but those blue eyes were so disarming. And Roger’s little smile. He didn’t have a crooked smile; he had this grin that was almost private, like the joke was for him and him alone. 

“Uh, thanks.” That made Roger smile a little wider. Frank quietly thanked God the lounge was empty. He didn’t know if it was because someone else would think the moment was weird or because he wanted that smile to himself. 

The group of them would walk around towns sometimes. There were twelve of them total, usually breaking off into groups of four to do different things. Fuck, this sounds like a middle school field trip. Roger always stuck with Frank. Jared would flit around the groups. Rob sometimes joined up with them. Evan did his own shit. But Roger always stuck with Frank. And, Frank felt a little weird when he finally managed to admit it to himself, but he didn’t really mind it. He actually kind of liked Roger, a kinda quiet witty dude. He usually said stuff that was a little cliche. “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” But maybe that was okay. He meant it sincerely. Frank didn’t mind the constant company, and he didn’t mind the constant platitudes, he didn’t even really mind when Roger started holding his hand while they walked. Roger was just a dude. A dude with a private smile. A dude who liked tattoos and dogs and weird art. A dude who held hands with Frank. 

Frank didn’t piece together that Roger’s actions weren’t strictly platonic for about a week. A part of him almost didn’t want to piece it together. It was nice to just have somebody to hold hands with. He missed Jamia on tour constantly. Roger was absolutely not Jamia, but he was here and he had holdable hands so. When in Rome. (But actually they were on the east coast.) And, once Frank had pieced it together, he didn’t really see a reason to act. It’s not like the kid was doing anything bad, they were just holding hands. And having inside jokes. And secret shared smiles. Okay, so Frank should’ve acted sooner. 

The seventh day of tour rolled around, down in Florida. The bus lounge had cleared out except for, of course, Frank and Roger. Frank was immersed in a book, his usual evening habit. Roger was laying on the bus bench, staring at the ceiling. He had his arm draped over his eyes. 

“Hey, Frank?” That was nice about Roger, he didn’t do the whole Frankie thing. 

“Hm?” Frank didn’t look up from the book.

“I really like you.”

Frank looked up from the book. “What?”

“I, uh, I really like you.”

“Oh. Roger, that’s, uh–”

“No, no, it’s okay. You have your wife and Gerard and–”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

“Gerard?” Frank realized it was the first time he’d said the name since London.

“You two have something unresolved. It’s, uh, really obvious.” Roger sat up, criss-crossed his legs. “Maybe not to you, I guess. But, uh, that’s your business.” He took a breath, something to rewind. “But, I really like you. And you have your wife and all that. And you don’t like me in the same way. But I figured I should tell you.”

Frank was slightly dumbfounded by this. “Uh. Okay?”

“Just. Y’know. I felt bad about it. Sneaking all that shit in.”

“Oh. Okay.” Frank had absolutely no idea how to respond to this. 

“You’re not weirded out by that?”

“Uh. I don’t really know.” Frank paused a moment. “I guess not. It was nice.” No no no asshole, this is where drama starts. “I mean. Y’know. Just. It could never be a thing.” It almost hurt a bit to say that.  _ Why? _

Roger sighed and smiled his private smile. “Yeah. ‘Don’t get your hopes up kid,’ that sort of thing. I figured that. But I still wanted to go for it, to try it.”

“That’s honestly kind of respectable.” Frank wasn’t sure if he meant to say that out loud. 

“Yeah.” Roger let out a little half-huffed laugh. The moment settled, only to be stirred up again. “Do you, uh. Can I. Can I kiss you? Just. Just the once. Just to know.” 

“Yes.” What the fuck. What the fuck Frank what the  _ fuck _ are you doing. His brain was in complete freefall mode. Held-handed and blue-eyed, Roger kissed him. Quickly, on the lips. Oh, but soft. Like two teenagers in the car after a date, the girl’s dad waiting just inside the front door to ask how it went. Frank was struck by Roger’s youth; maybe youth is not the right word. The disparity between their worlds. The tiredness that sinks in with a rise and a fall. Maybe Frank was reminded a little forcefully of Mikey.

“Thank you.” 

* * *

 

**_November 18, 2015 - Los Angeles, California_ **

Mikey was the one who texted him.

[me n ray r coming to the show tonight]

Frank was grateful; while he could enjoy the hand holding (they still did that, with a specified platonic boundary) and Roger’s heart filled little tweets, there wasn’t the same flutter in his chest when his phone buzzed “@xorogerharvey” as there was when it buzzed “@gerardway.” But Gerard wasn’t going to be there, just Ray and Mikey. Maybe their respective significant others. Maybe Frank should have moved out west when they all did, maybe it would’ve saved the band– nah, nothing would’ve saved the band at that point. Frank typed back a quick [awesome, see u there]. He was trying to be grateful, but he was having a hard time with it.

He didn’t tell the others on the tour about it, didn’t even tell the others in the cellabration about it; they would perform well anyways, they always did. They didn’t need to impress anyone. But Frank had a part to play; he had to be   _ fine _ . He had to have moved on, had to act like he hadn’t gone into his basement and screamed his lungs raw, had to act like the songs he would play weren’t written about losing one of the greatest things that happened to him without getting to say a proper goodbye. And he certainly couldn’t act like that London encounter had happened. He wouldn’t let that show, couldn’t let that show. Mikey and Ray would notice and would worry. A blog post from years ago floated through his mind. “ _ Don’t worry my dear, I’ll be fine. / Just let my wrists and I sort this one out on our own.”  _ This performance had to be fucking Oscar worthy. And it wasn’t that Frank had to play giving his all; he gave his all every night, he had always given his all when playing. To take the aches and stains of strings and to dissect himself onstage every night, that was what it was to feel alive, if only for a moment. But Ray and Mikey knew this very well, they had seen him do it for years. He had to impress them. Maybe impress is not the right word. There was a pressure to be something beyond himself. 

The show rolled around as usual. Roger gave him a weird grin as Frank prepped to go onstage, that weird private grin.  _ I know something you don’t know.  _ The kids were wild for this album, or for him, whatever. Maybe they all missed something they didn’t get to say goodbye to either. Mikey and Ray were on a balcony near the back, he could see the main features of their faces. Kristin was there, she had such a bright smile. After everything, Frank was glad Mikey found someone that made him as happy as she did. Maybe Frank didn’t have the right to feel that way because of his role in the story, but maybe it was okay that he felt it anyway. He kept glancing up at the balcony, it was atypical. Usually he just leaned into his mic stand and yelled. It was a performance quality now, it was like he was acting in a play. Lift through your sternum to the highest audience; or at least, to the audience you care most about. Another familiar face appeared on the balcony. Dyed hair, a smile. Lindsey. Frank’s heart stopped for a moment, he nearly botched the lyrics. If she was here, Gerard was here; maybe Mikey should’ve warned Frank, some common courtesy. Maybe that was the whole point. Frank wasn’t really angry about it. More surprised, if anything. Angry would’ve been so last November, angry was out of style now. He’d left that in London.

And he was here. Gerard, that is. Further back from the balcony, his features barely visible in the dim lighting in contrast with the spotlights. He was smiling, he was beautiful. He was always beautiful, he had always been beautiful. His face showed no age; Frank briefly pondered the concept of immortality. He didn’t want to live forever, not by a long shot. He wanted this moment to freeze, and no one in it would be able to live another day. To die now in order to be immortalized. He wanted to bottle that feeling, to seal it in a vial and sell it as medicine, sell it as a miracle. 

“So, uh, we have two songs left for you tonight, and honestly this is way past my bedtime. But uh, this next one is about coming home, and uh, about old friends you haven’t seen in a long time.” Frank’s voice cracked. “And uh, there’s some friends here that I haven’t seen in a very long time.” He gestured to the balcony. The kids went wild, shrieks of bewilderment; this meant something to them too. Maybe they knew how he felt in some way. His friends cheered, Frank nearly cried. Gerard’s face was too poorly illuminated, but Frank knew that he was smiling. For the longest time, Frank had felt like everything was over: the band, their relationship, the world. Those last two might’ve been synonymous sometimes. Honestly, all three may have been synonymous sometimes. It didn’t matter now, he knew now. The band was over, but the world wasn’t. They were all still here.  His friends cheered, Frank nearly cried. Gerard’s face was too poorly illuminated, but Frank knew that he was smiling. 

Frank found them after the show. The fans were having a field day, but everyone made it out scratch-free. Ray was the first one he hugged. Ray, all warm skin and strong arms just like always. Ray was so constant, had always been so constant. Frank had never appreciated it enough. “Thanks for coming, man.”

Mikey was next. Bony as all hell, sharp lines and big smiles. God, it was good to see him smile. Kristin was absolute sunshine, the two together were like out of a storybook or something. The next story Frank would read to the girls could be about them, it seemed like. 

“Thanks, Mikey.”

“Yeah man.”

“Just. Thanks.” Frank pulled him back for a second hug, it was an impulse. “You knew.”

Mikey quietly replied. “Yeah. I knew.”

And then Gerard. There was a pause between them, a moment of hangtime. Frank wanted to pour his immortality bottle into that moment. He wrapped his arms around Gerard, pulled him close. 

“Gerard?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Tom Bryant for the mcr bio, to the people at theydrewblood on blogspot and mcrchronology on livejournal. Special thanks to Hannah for beta reading this. Thanks also to Salem, Jessie, Molly,Maria, Meg, Alyssa, Mackie, and Jay.


End file.
